Ick

Icky day.

I now know the chemo feeling too well, and have learned to recognize it when it first creeps in. I've got 12 more weeks of this round, and I'm proactively dreading the dreading.

I've unsuccessfully tried to describe the sensation. It's icky. How's that for an ability to articulate the chemo feeling?

I received some good news on the genetic front. I did not inherit the known mutations for breast cancer from either my mother or my father, both of whom had breast cancer. 

For me, it's just the luck of the draw.

I'm adding this to my list of complaints I'm taking with me wherever it is we go when we die.